Hendrix (Caldwell Brothers #1) by Chelsea Camaron, Mj Fields Page A
Authors: Chelsea Camaron, Mj Fields
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it’s so packed I can’t keep up. This must be another cruel joke on me. Ha, ha, ha, Livi can’t make it.
I rub my butt to remind myself of my ‘I’m a rock star’ panties.
The first hour passes in a blur of mishaps. Then, at nine-thirty, the song shifts, and suddenly the women are screaming like we are teens at a boy band concert. I turn around to see Slick climb on the bar.
His dress pants are tailored to cut his butt, one I am sure I could bounce a quarter off. The white button-up shirt is tight on his arms, the material stretching to the max with every move he makes. His back is to the crowd as he pulls his shirt from his pants and unbuttons the last few buttons. Then, he moves to the music as he slides the shirt off his shoulders.
I am helpless to the show. Unable to move, unable to think, I watch as he points to Quiet and Sporty to join the fun.
Soon, it is like the Three Musketeers on the bar. No wonder the sign in the window said this is ladies’ night.
Sporty is next to start dancing and removing his clothes. I have to hand it to these guys, they sure know how to move. I read a magazine article once that said, if a man can dance, he is good in the bedroom, too. It’s all about the rhythm or something.
It is dark and hard for me to make out all the ink covering these guys as they each stand mostly naked on the bar, but not one of them is lacking in the looks department.
As they move together, but not quite in a routine, it hits me. Oh, my goodness, it’s just like in the movie! They may not have been showboating with bottle tossing, but they have found their niche dancing on the bar.
What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Seven
Hendrix
Livi is a bit different from the other bartenders I have hired. When she showed up an hour early with a damn duffel bag, note pad, and pen, I should have told her to turn around. She said she was a quick learner, but there was nothing quick about trying to teach someone how to pour a draft without head or pausing when she held the pen up while writing down the answer to a simple question.
The fucking cash register was laughable. I mean, ours is ancient, but it isn’t that difficult. Tap beer is two bucks, bottles of Miller Lite three bucks, and shots, every one of them that actually sells, two bucks.
We have peanuts and popcorn that go on the bar, free of charge, on nights we don’t serve food. I show her how to use the popcorn machine, and she writes down step-by-step instructions for that, too.
When she took off those layers to expose her black knee high boots and black half shirt, I was in complete shock. When she looked up at me from playing nervously with that shirt, trying to pull it down, I noticed she had on make-up, and I’m not gonna lie, I got a little hard.
There is an innocence to her that screams at me to protect her. There is more hidden behind those eyes, and I can’t help but be intrigued. She licks her lips and all I want is for her to lick my dick.
A few hours later, I see Jared out of the corner of my eye. “Hey stranger,” I say as I hand him his first of four drafts. Jared is no stranger. He comes in five nights a week after working second shift, orders the same damn thing, and then leaves buzzed. “What’s the difference between your job and a dead hooker?”
He takes a drink and shrugs.
“Your job still sucks.” I smirk.
“Oh, yeah? How do you get a nun knocked up?”
“No idea.” I chuckle as I pour the one and only shot he’ll order.
“Dress her up like an altar boy.”
My joke was better, but I laugh. “You got me there, man.”
“Who’s the new skirt?” He nods to Livi.
“This is Olivia. She’s testing the waters here.”
“Don’t drink the water, Olivia. The beer is better,” he yells to her.
As I look back, she blushes. “Yes, sir.”
“Did she just call me sir?” Jared’s laugh booms through the bar. “Damn, Caldwell, she’s a keeper.”
I laugh a bit at him and turn
I rub my butt to remind myself of my ‘I’m a rock star’ panties.
The first hour passes in a blur of mishaps. Then, at nine-thirty, the song shifts, and suddenly the women are screaming like we are teens at a boy band concert. I turn around to see Slick climb on the bar.
His dress pants are tailored to cut his butt, one I am sure I could bounce a quarter off. The white button-up shirt is tight on his arms, the material stretching to the max with every move he makes. His back is to the crowd as he pulls his shirt from his pants and unbuttons the last few buttons. Then, he moves to the music as he slides the shirt off his shoulders.
I am helpless to the show. Unable to move, unable to think, I watch as he points to Quiet and Sporty to join the fun.
Soon, it is like the Three Musketeers on the bar. No wonder the sign in the window said this is ladies’ night.
Sporty is next to start dancing and removing his clothes. I have to hand it to these guys, they sure know how to move. I read a magazine article once that said, if a man can dance, he is good in the bedroom, too. It’s all about the rhythm or something.
It is dark and hard for me to make out all the ink covering these guys as they each stand mostly naked on the bar, but not one of them is lacking in the looks department.
As they move together, but not quite in a routine, it hits me. Oh, my goodness, it’s just like in the movie! They may not have been showboating with bottle tossing, but they have found their niche dancing on the bar.
What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Seven
Hendrix
Livi is a bit different from the other bartenders I have hired. When she showed up an hour early with a damn duffel bag, note pad, and pen, I should have told her to turn around. She said she was a quick learner, but there was nothing quick about trying to teach someone how to pour a draft without head or pausing when she held the pen up while writing down the answer to a simple question.
The fucking cash register was laughable. I mean, ours is ancient, but it isn’t that difficult. Tap beer is two bucks, bottles of Miller Lite three bucks, and shots, every one of them that actually sells, two bucks.
We have peanuts and popcorn that go on the bar, free of charge, on nights we don’t serve food. I show her how to use the popcorn machine, and she writes down step-by-step instructions for that, too.
When she took off those layers to expose her black knee high boots and black half shirt, I was in complete shock. When she looked up at me from playing nervously with that shirt, trying to pull it down, I noticed she had on make-up, and I’m not gonna lie, I got a little hard.
There is an innocence to her that screams at me to protect her. There is more hidden behind those eyes, and I can’t help but be intrigued. She licks her lips and all I want is for her to lick my dick.
A few hours later, I see Jared out of the corner of my eye. “Hey stranger,” I say as I hand him his first of four drafts. Jared is no stranger. He comes in five nights a week after working second shift, orders the same damn thing, and then leaves buzzed. “What’s the difference between your job and a dead hooker?”
He takes a drink and shrugs.
“Your job still sucks.” I smirk.
“Oh, yeah? How do you get a nun knocked up?”
“No idea.” I chuckle as I pour the one and only shot he’ll order.
“Dress her up like an altar boy.”
My joke was better, but I laugh. “You got me there, man.”
“Who’s the new skirt?” He nods to Livi.
“This is Olivia. She’s testing the waters here.”
“Don’t drink the water, Olivia. The beer is better,” he yells to her.
As I look back, she blushes. “Yes, sir.”
“Did she just call me sir?” Jared’s laugh booms through the bar. “Damn, Caldwell, she’s a keeper.”
I laugh a bit at him and turn
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